They sat together in the Second Floor Kitchen. The staff had tried to place them in the formal dining room, but Geneviève had asked if they could simply dine at the island in the kitchen.
Peter had liked the sound of that.
Once dinner had been delivered from the main kitchen in the basement, he’d dismissed both the staff and the Secret Service. He knew the latter had merely retired to wait on the floor below until relieved by the next shift or Geneviève was ready to go home. Which he hoped wasn’t anytime soon. Not only was he enjoying her company, but she was also a joy to watch. Not merely the sleek red dress with ornate golden needlework that wrapped so splendidly about her body.
When she spoke, her hands came to life. She would fold them quietly when being an attentive listener, and
